Turn the Tide
by Lanfir Leah
Summary: ('Balance' fanfic) A Death Bearer is sent to end the Second Island War.


**Turn the tide**

I never realized that a battle can be so… _noisy_. I'm standing on the cliff, watching down on the massacre that is taking place below me on the beach, and all I can think of is the sheer noise. Shouting, screaming that sounds so inhuman yet has to be produced by human voices. The sound of steel on steal, wood on steel, thumps and clanging, it all blends together. The roar of battle is overpowering even the images, and death is everywhere.

And all I can do is stand and watch the people who are soon to leave this plane – how the thin silver strays on sunlight reflects on their swords and on armor, and the sea behind them, as silver as mercury under the grey clouds. It's one swarm of humans, dancing around eachother, fighting and living and dying. For some reason it reminds me of an anthill. One that I am about to crush.

I look over my shoulder at Hagen. "You guys don't even need me," I tell them. "The two armies are doing a lovely job decimating themselves."

Hagen comes to stand next to me. "You have your orders," he tells me with his gruff voice. His dark eyes are steely and unwavering. His gaze is so determined that I know he'd chuck me personally off this cliff if I wouldn't cooperate quickly enough.

I sigh. "I know." I stare in the distance, recalling the orders that the Prefect had given me. They had been posed as a suggestion, but during the trip to here I had learnt that I did not have much choice in the matter.

_You can turn the tide, Lorelei, _he had said._ It'll be your energy, your victory. Alta needs you and your magic. You will die soon, no matter what. What better way to die than to do it in service of your country, in the name of your Prefect?_

I rake a hand through my hair and stare at my leather boots on the cracked and dried ground. "And I'm not even Altan," I murmur. "My mother is one. I was born in Amerel, damn you. Why am I doing this again?"

Hagen is looking at me. "Did you say something?" The veteran soldier has never lost the wary look in his eyes, even though we've been traveling together for many weeks. Neither have the others, by the way. They all treat me like I'm either glass, or a case with explosive powder. I'm probably both.

They have been escorting me through the woods of Alta for two and a half weeks, hellishly long. The Prefect had sent me to do this dirty job by sweet-talking me into it, yet when I got second thoughts, my guards told me that I had no choice. And while I was opening myself to my magic, I found myself with a knife on my throat and Hagens gruff voice told me to cooperate, or else.

I suppose could have ended it then and there, but somehow I couldn't do it. I had already gotten to know them too well. And I didn't want to die yet. Giving into my Pattern is like dancing with Death, you know. I used the Pattern to create destruction and death, but every time I filled myself with my Pattern, I felt myself grow more detached and more inclined to just give into it, and sink into the destruction till I am torn apart into a million directions and the fight with my magic will end.

But not yet. Not quite yet.

_You can turn the tide, Lorelei. _

I probably can. The question is: do I want to?

I don't want to die. I don't want to kill. Dammit, I've seen the pudgy mess I made of perfectly fine and breathing human beings. Never mind that they called it the mercy of a quick death, never mind that I saved them from festering and terminal diseases – I have _seen_ what my magic does to people, and I don't want any part of it.

Still, what is happening below me isn't much better.

Hells, I don't want any part of that, either.

Then why do I feel the Death so thick in the air? And why is it tugging at me? And why is the _need_ for destruction burning through my blood and clouding in my mind? It would be so easy, just to let it go. To detach from reality and watch a true massacre take place. They are soldiers down there, they know that they will die. What does it matter if their bodies rot away in a matter of seconds? Perhaps that's even preferable over death by disemboweling, where they try to keep their entrails inside and fail and die a thousand deaths, screaming their throat raw as the life fleets from their bodies. Perhaps it really is.

Still, to stand here, to look upon them with Death boiling in my blood and the ka'tara on my face darkening in anticipation…

"I don't want to kill them, Hagen," I suddenly blurt out, hot tears running over my face. "It doesn't feel right. It's wrong. It's evil." I sob, turning to him for comfort, wishing I could bury my face against his chest. "I can't do it. I've killed enough."

Hagen's expression doesn't change. He probably already expected this. "You have your orders, Lorelei. The Prefect's orders."

"The Prefect can stick it where the sun doesn't shine!" I shriek, taking a few steps back – but still mindful enough not to tumble down the cliff. "I'll have no part in his dirty backstabbing plans. How can I kill these people, when I know that these people are our own?"

"Our people are outnumbered one to four. They will die anyway."

"You will kill four times as many Islanders," Stene adds. He is standing a bit back, poised to draw his blade if the need arises to do so. "It will end the war."

"I don't care for this stupid war," I cry, sitting down on the cliff. My boots dangle freely in the air as I sob against the steel-colored sky. "I just want to go home."

"You can't go home," Hagen says almost gently. "You know you're a walking menace. You will only kill your loved ones."

"I don't care," I repeat, burying my face in my hands.

"Wipe them out, Lorelei," Stene orders. His hand is gripping his blade tightly enough to make his knuckles appear white. "We didn't drag you along all this way here for nothing."

I look over my shoulder and send him a glare. "You are aware that you'll be killed as well the moment I unleash my magic, aren't you?"

"I am ready to die for my country."

"I wish I was," I sigh. So I look downwards again, tasting the death in the air and looking at the images of death and destruction below me. It disgusts me to see what all these human beings are doing upon each other. I'm too high up to see any details, but with a sudden change of the winds I can suddenly smell the stench of blood and fire over the salty tang of the ocean, and suddenly all I want to do is to end it.

Never mind my moral high grounds. It's not as if I have any other option.

And at least I'll take these armies down with me.

I grab my ivory bracelet in my hands, my fingers running over the gravings in the smooth white surface. It is my focal point from the moment I Awakened. I have used it only two times before – the other three times my Pattern went unchecked and killed more people than I cared to remember. My fingers tighten around the cool jewelry as I close my eyes and I taste the death around me even clearer. It's dark, like destruction and pain. I feel it bottled up inside of me – it would eat my own organs and my own body if I wouldn't push it out. Being a Death Bearer puts a limit onto your life. If you do not give into the urges of your element, the element will start to consume you. That's all nice and dandy if you're a Life or a Water Bearer, but not if you're like me.

Like me…

A Death Bearer.

Slowly, I feel the darkness spread through my body until I can't take it anymore and I start to black out. That is the moment to act. The moment that the pressure becomes too much to bear, I simply push it outside through my focal point.

I try to direct it towards the two engaging armies below, but the stream of Death is too strong. There's simply too much Death in the air already – my addition only enhances it.

And so it turns on me as well. Death overcomes me.

As I die with the screams of the army and my guards ringing in my ears, I almost welcome it.

_  
fin_


End file.
